False and Real
by hujwernoo
Summary: He does not know what is true or not anymore. All he really knows it that he is alone. That is the only real thing. Very dark deathfic. Set somewhere between S4 and S5. Twoshot.
1. Chapter 1

The cells were cold.

He had never really realized it before.

It was the kind of cold where, if focused on, would grow, slowly consume any life in its way and sap away a person's will so gradually they didn't even realize it was happening.

It was the kind of cold, Merlin dimly realized, that seemed so very unnecessary because all that had already gone

He couldn't really put together what had happened. Things were making no sense, memories were floating around in his head that weren't_ real_, sensations like his mother stroking his cheek and a heavy, unrelenting weight around his neck when there was _nothing there_ were making him question reality.

Arthur was dead.

No. No, wait, Arthur wasn't dead. Just the Arthur that Merlin knew, the one that laughed and smiled at him and _trusted_ him to be a friend, his best friend.

That Arthur was dead.

Merlin felt, inexplicably, suddenly as if he had just been thrown from his horse. He could feel flying through the air, the utter shock at something so _solid_ and _reassuring_ simply being _not there_ anymore, the reins and control slipping away as he thudded to the earth and feeling _pain_, pain beyond comprehension-

No. He wasn't on a horse on patrol or a hunt, he was in the dungeons, he was in the dungeons and he could feel his sanity _slipping_, slipping away like the reins-

Because he knew what today was.

Footsteps in the hallway. They came closer, and Merlin had the desire of a mouse, one who has been cornered by a cat and who loses all presence of mind at the thought of death and just wants to_ hide,_ be small and inconsequential enough to be looked over, pressing up against the wall until it feels a flash of pain and then no more.

How had it gone so wrong?

So utterly, terrifyingly _wrong._

Merlin realized that it didn't really matter, did it? He could hardly recall it anyway, the pounding headache and not knowing the difference between _real_ and_ false._

There was something in his hands. He looked down and saw a rope. Where did he get a rope? Prisoners weren't allowed a rope, in case they tried to cheat justi-

Merlin nearly dropped the rope as the idea occurred to him.

Did he have a friend in the provider of the rope? No, that couldn't be. He had no friends anymore. It must be an enemy, or someone who was careless with where they put the ropes.

Whatever the provider had intended, or not, they had done him a service. He could _end_ this, he could end _everything_ and maybe next time he could start all over again and not mess up.

Merlin turned around to tie the rope to the bars of his window-

That wasn't there.

There was no window, nowhere he could tie the rope to and he had known, yes he was_ sure_ there had been a window there because he could remember the sunlight coming in and laying there in order to feel the it, the sun that had gone behind a cloud and then he had nearly cried because that had taken away the _warmth_ and the cell was so_ cold_ again...

He remembered it, so why was there no window?

_False_. There was no window and just stone so it had to be _false_ and that meant there had been no sun and no cloud and nothing to tie the rope to.

He looked back at the rope, feeling tears pricking at his eyelids. The rope was grey, grey and white, and Merlin realized it looked like the cloud, the thief cloud that had stolen the sun that never existed, and he was suddenly being dragged down a corridor.

The corridor was near the courtyard. Merlin knew this. He had walked down it before, when he was still a servant and still sane and still a_ friend._

Why was he in the corridor? He had been in his cell, the cell with no window. The cloud-rope was gone, it was nowhere to be seen. Had it even existed in the first place?

Gwaine was there. Gwaine was_ there_, and he was holding Merlin's right arm so tightly it was numb. His face was rigid and hard, and Merlin remembered that Gwaine had died too.

How was he in the hallway? He had been in the _dungeons,_ in his _cell,_ and it had been silent. There had been nothing and nobody there. He would have heard footsteps.

_Oh._

He remembered.

It was today.

Of course it was today. He had been counting the days ever since the proclamation, his steps growing more and more frantic as he paced his cell, the knowledge and cold _growing_ until it had begun eating away at his sanity, and he_ knew_ this, knew that this was what Arthur had intended because he had not been able to forgive him.

Gaius was dead.

Merlin almost tripped, and only the iron hard grip of Gwaine kept him from falling. _Gaius was dead?_ How did he know that?

Everything was hazy, blurred, moving when he tried to _see_ what it was.

Was it something to do with Gaius's death that had made everybody hate him? Had he..._done_ something?

He wouldn't hurt Gaius. There was a feeling in the pit of Merlin's stomach, an icy hard ball that had managed to congeal from the neverending cold of the dungeons. He was absolutely certain he would never hurt Gaius.

He had been certain there was a window, too.

A lance of fear_ ripped_ into Merlin's spine, as real as any weapon, and Merlin was choking, _choking_ on the blood and fear and _Gaius was dead..._

They had made it to the doors the doors leading into the courtyard. Gwaine held out his hand and pushed them open, paying no attention to Merlin and he _couldn't breathe_ and Gwaine jerked him out into the crowd.

There was blood, so much blood in his mouth and throat and he was coughing, gasping but there was the copper taste it _everywhere_ and he was _drowning_ in it, in his own blood. There was a jerk on his other arm, his left arm and Merlin was yanked upright when he hadn't even realized he had fallen to his knees. The jerk let loose some of the blood in his mouth, and he coughed it out, spattering it all over the face of Percival.

Merlin gulped in air, as it flowed in and out of his lungs, but there was still the_ blood_, still _running_ down his throat and it was so _real._

All the knights were there, his former friends and brothers. They weren't anymore, they were rigid and cold and_ angry._

They led him to the pyre.

And he was suddenly on the pyre, while a bloody Percival held his arms behind him and Elyan tied the rope, the one Merlin recognized as the cloud-rope around his hands. Leon had stepped back and was just looking at him and Merlin felt he was looking straight _through_ him, that he didn't see him anymore and didn't _care._

Then they were done, and they didn't even give him a glance as they filed off the pyre, so neat and orderly an exit from a thing of such destruction.

Merlin could still taste the blood in his mouth even as he saw that Percival's face was entirely clean. What did that mean? He knew it meant _something_, but his mind was _skewed, twisting_ everything around so that even if he had the _sanity_ to realize it he wouldn't trust anything his mind told him.

He looked up to the balcony and saw Gwen.

She stood regally on the balcony, as if she had been born and raised a princess instead of a blacksmith's daughter. However, she had none of the happiness, the friendliness Merlin had enjoyed about her so much. Like everyone else, she hated him now with a passion.

It was still there, that_ oppressive_ weight around his neck, and it_ wouldn't go away._

Gwen stood motionless above the crowd, the faceless crowd that had come to see him burned. He remembered that it had been her, rather than Arthur, to read aloud the proclamation sentencing him to death. Or was that _false_ and not _real?_

There was a silence in the courtyard, a _silence_ that was even more pronounced than in the dungeons. At least in there it was expected, the place of suffering and cold. Out here was supposed to be bustling and noisy and hectic, not _still_ and _quiet._

Arthur stepped out of the crowd.

Merlin did not move. He so very much wanted this to be_ real_ and it was but he had to be_ certain_. Arthur was _here_ and he needed to_ talk_ to him, to _explain_ and know where it had gone _wrong_ so he could_ fix it._

Then he saw the torch in Arthur's hand.

_No._

_Oh please no._

_Not this._

Merlin finally registered Arthur's face. It was tight with _fury_ and _hatred_, and Merlin felt fear because he _could not_ bear to see Arthur looking that way at him.

Like he would never forgive him.

But it was _real._

Merlin could feel salt replacing the copper tang in his mouth.

Arthur lifted the torch.

He looked straight into Merlin's eyes.

And spoke.

_"Burn."_

_So very, utterly real._


	2. Chapter 2

Merlin's heart stopped.

One second he had been sitting against the wall, then he slumped over with simply a soft sigh, as if to say, _I am done._

Since he hadn't moved in _hours_, everybody started _screaming_ at the top of their lungs.

There was a crash, and a woman came in the doorway. Her dark hair was matted and tangled, and her shabby clothes had once been envious finery. The woman's face spoke of cruelty and hardship.

She stopped upon seeing the collapsed form of Merlin. Then, quickly, she turned him over and felt for a pulse.

None.

She pursed her lips that had once been so beautiful. Looking up at the small crowd in the cell in her home, she said with annoyance, "I expected him to last longer."

There was a perfect, ringing silence.

"Really," she said casually, yet knowing her words were causing unimaginable pain to the listeners, "five hours isn't very long. I would expect him to be insane, but not _dead_."

She said it with as much contempt as she could muster. The weakness she had been expecting, but she had overestimated Merlin.

"No..."

Arthur stared at his sister, then at Merlin.

_"No..."_

Merlin was not dead. Merlin _could not_ be dead.

This could not be real.

"I wonder which fear it was?" Morgana mused, looking vaguely curious. "It makes him think it's coming true, you know, every worst nightmare he's ever had. He _lives_ it. I wonder which one was strong enough to stop his heart?"

Gwen had tears running down her face, staring at Merlin's...at Merlin. Arthur felt something too, and distantly realized he was crying as well. The knights were still looking, shocked, at Morgana.

"I have an idea." Morgana's voice had changed.

She sounded gleeful.

"Let's see it."

She reached out to Merlin, and unclasped the heavy, ornate necklace around his neck.

It was silver, a tarnished and filthy silver. There was a gemstone in the setting. In the gem, fog swirled and it looked unsettlingly like a living, breathing drop of blood.

When it was off Merlin, the jewel stopped swirling.

Morgana spoke a sentence in that language, the language of magic and death, ending with her name and all the names of her prisoners.

And suddenly Arthur was not in Morgana's house

**"There now. We can see the whole thing."**

He had no body. He was feeling, and seeing, and hearing, but he knew instinctively that it was not his own self.

Morgana had just talked to him in his mind.

Arthur realized he could vaguely sense the others, if he tried.

He felt despair.

Not his own, but the person he was currently in. A despair so deep it was the kind to bring men to their knees and give up living.

As more and more emotion that was not his own filled his mind, he realized he was inhabiting Merlin.

**"Pay attention, dear brother. Wouldn't you like to know how Merlin died?"**

The words hit him like a ton of rocks, driving breath from him even though he had no body to breathe in.

And Arthur had to watch.

He felt it, every bit of it, holding the rope and when Gwaine grabbed his arm and the _blood,_ the_ choking_ on his blood and being tied to the pyre by his brothers.

And Arthur saw himself step out of the crowd.

_"Burn."_

And it was done.

There was another silence, filled with horror and grief and everything in between.

This could not be real.

_"Oh."_

Morgana was kneeling by Merlin, her face filled with glee, her voice hissingly jubilant.

"You really don't do _anything_ halfway, Merlin."

With that, she stood and stalked out of the house, leaving her prisoners with Merlin's body.

All Arthur could do was replay Merlin's last thought in his head over and over again.

_So very, utterly real._


End file.
